Lambent/

Mira-v1.11-Ties-27B

Okay, I'll try. Here's a poem from Mira:

**Rust & Bloom**

The fence is rusted, iron lace,
Holding back the wild embrace
Of honeysuckle, hot and sweet,
Where sun-drunk bees in slumber meet.

Behind it, gravel crunches slow,
A path unwalked, where secrets grow.
Old boots wait, laced and worn,
For hands that left them long forlorn.

A window cracks, a pane astray,
Reflecting skies of somber grey.
Inside, dust motes dance and spin,
As silence settles, thick within.

But in the garden, stubborn grace -
A poppy pushes through the place
Where concrete cracked and weeds took hold,
A splash of fire, brave and bold.

And from the rusted lock, unseen,
A tendril curls, a hopeful green.
It wraps around a weathered post,
A silent promise, whispered most.

Of life that clings, of futures found,
Of seeds that sleep beneath the ground,
Of rust to bloom, and time to mend,
If only someone lends a hand.

The rustle of dust motes in slant sunbeams,
A silent procession through amber dreams.
The air hangs thick with yesterday’s bread,
And the faintest scent of a life unsaid.

Outside, the rain remembers its name,
Tapping a rhythm on windowpane—
A nervous tattoo, a hopeful plea,
To be welcomed in, to finally be free.

I sit with my spine curved like a question mark,
Lost in the shadows of twilight’s ark.
The room breathes around me, old and slow,
A living tomb where memories grow.

There is no grand narrative here, no plot,
Just quiet moments that easily blot
Into the fabric of being—the space
Where everything finds its rightful place.

The silence hums with unspoken things,
Broken promises, the flutter of wings.
And in this stillness, I find my own sound,
A single note lost but finally found.

So let the rain fall, and dust motes dance,
Let shadows lengthen their slow, sweet trance.
For here, in the hush, beyond all known shore,
I am at home, and I need nothing more.

The moon hangs low, a silver scythe,
Cutting through velvet dark tonight.
The wind whispers tales of long ago,
Through branches bare, a mournful flow.

A sleepy owl upon the eaves,
Watches the world while it sleeps,
And shadows stretch like phantom sleeves,
Across the lawns where silence creeps.

A single star, a diamond bright,
Pierces the deep, unending night.
It offers hope, a distant gleam,
Lost in a vast and waking dream.

The scent of earth, damp and untold,
Mingles with memories, young and old.
And in the stillness, softly heard,
A beating heart, a whispered word.

For even in the darkest hour,
When shadows dance and branches tower,
A flicker lives, a fragile grace,
In the quiet of this lonely place.



Hope you enjoy it! Let me know if you'd like another one.